


reticulum

by funhauswiki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ??? I GUESS, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, i don't rightly know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funhauswiki/pseuds/funhauswiki
Summary: Hank is still struggling with addiction and Connor is just struggling.After Markus' revolution, Hank and Connor are assigned to a brand new division of the DPD, a unit that investigates crime against androids. This is hard on Connor, but as ever, he's determined to do his job. For their work during the revolution and for their dedication to the new investigation unit, they both receive an invitation to the annual DPD Gala.Neither of them really want to go, but they do anyway.





	reticulum

**Author's Note:**

> i asked my best friend for some canon compliant DBH prompts the other night bc i wanted to write something short-ish to get this pairing out of my system. she gave me a couple different ones and i mashed some of them together to fit into one piece:
> 
> •hank has a few tattoos that connor hasn't seen before  
> •hank turns down the promotion to captain  
> •connor does something risky to protect an android and hank gets stressed out
> 
> so there's what to expect. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The Detroit police station has been barely functioning without a dedicated captain for almost two weeks. Fowler had been promoted yet again, leaving lieutenant Anderson behind— again, feeling like a wet paper towel in the trash. Hank had never put much worth in his rank at the station, but watching the people around him rise up and up on the proverbial ladder of success made him push his eyebrows together in frustration. 

"Everything alright, lieutenant?" Connor says from the desk opposite Hank. It has become— much to the lieutenant's dismay, almost second nature for Connor to watch and observe his partner. Connor notices when Hank is quiet for too long, notices when he fiddles with the coin he'd pocketed all those months ago, and now he notices the way the lieutenant's brow is knitted, as if deep in an unwanted thought. 

Hank lifts his head to look at the android, his little LED ring circling a steady, calming blue. He opts for a noncommittal grunt as his response, and has to fight the smile that threatens to split his lips when he sees Connor's LED change to yellow. They're both quiet then for a long moment, watching each other and Hank watches Connor's expression drop, almost to mimic his own. 

"Oh, come on." Hank says, leaning forward to shove some papers over to Connor's desk. "We've got work to do."

Since Markus' revolution, the two detectives' jobs turned from hunting deviant androids to hunting humans. The success the pair had displayed while working with (and sometimes against) androids in the past had landed them in a new division of the DPD— a unit specifically for investigating crimes against androids. The waters had been rough at first, directly after the revolution, they were swamped. Humans are selfish and petty creatures— Hank knew that first hand, and bringing about a change so abrupt and so dramatic like an android uprising was inevitably going to cause some turmoil. 

It had been hard on the both of them, but Connor especially so. Week after week Connor would get in Hank's car to be driven to a scene where he would see androids— his own people, sometimes nothing more than a pile of wires and blue sludge. Humans can be terrible and disgusting animals, acting on the most base instinct an animal can possess and Connor has seen what he imagined to be the absolute worst of it. But every week seemed to one-up the last.

Connor had snapped with the stress of it. Quietly and privately, in a way that only Connor would be able to have a terrifying lapse in mental stability. Hank had found him in his own house; the front door had been lockpicked and Connor had made his way into Hank's bathroom, his pale fingers gripping the edge of the sink so hard that he thought he might crush the porcelain. He was staring at himself in the mirror, wet and cold tears streaming down his cheeks, making him look like he'd spent too long in the rain. Resting on the sink in front of Connor was a knife from the kitchen.

Hank had looked up to see the android's LED still in tact on his temple, circling an angry red. Hank doesn't ask how Connor broke in, he doesn't ask why he's crying and he definitely doesn't ask what he had planned to do with the knife. Instead he reached forward, letting his fingertips touch the back of Connor's hand so lightly, he'd almost thought the android hadn't felt it, but the light on his temple quickly shifted, rapidly flashing yellow. Hank had pressed harder into Connor's hand, letting his fingers pry on the android's grip, working their way in between artificial skin and the cool ceramic of the sink. Eventually, reluctantly, Connor let Hank take his hand away. He let Hank pull and spin him by the shoulder and envelope him into a warm hug.

Connor has been living almost exclusively at Hank's place now. Before, the android would stay at the station all night in stand by or go back to the Cyberlife facility for the evening. That always made Hank uncomfortable, but it definitely wasn't his place to say where Connor should or shouldn't stay. Hank was silently and gracefully overjoyed when Connor started to come home with him after clocking out at the station. Eventually it was something neither of them had to ask— they leave the police station together, they get in Hank's car together, and they drive home. 

_Home_. Connor thinks, what a thought provoking concept. Hank is driving them home, to the lieutenant's home. Their workload at the station has decreased in the months after the revolution, the worst of humans slowly dwindling, and even though Hank had shoved some documents in his space with a mumbled "we've got work to do", they really didn't have much to do at all.

Connor looks out the window of the passenger seat, the buildings and houses passing by in a blur of blue and green as the car appears to glide over the road on the path to Hank's home. He wonders for a moment if a home has to be a place.

The sound of the car doors slamming shut in the driveway has set off Hank's dog, Sumo, who is now barking away at the window next to the front door. Hank rolls his eyes, muttering to himself as Connor follows behind him to the house. Hank jams his key into the door to unlock it and pushes it open, trying his best to fill up the door frame so Sumo can't run outside. Connor, without thinking, reaches into the drop box and pulls out Hank's mail. He closes the lid, and the creaky metal sound makes Hank turn around and shoot Connor a perplexed look. 

Hank throws his keys down on the dining table in the kitchen, immediately walking to the fridge to pull out a beer. Connor places the hefty stack of mail on the table next to Hank's keys. It's obvious that the lieutenant hasn't checked it in weeks. 

Connor watches Hank prop the top of the beer bottle against the countertop, his other hand coming down to hit the top of the bottle and the cap flies off, pinging onto the kitchen floor somewhere. Hank rushes to bring the bottle to his lips to catch the foam that starts to creep up the neck of it, threatening to spill onto the floor. 

Sumo is practically dancing at Connor's feet, looking back and forth between the two men, waiting— quite impatiently for his dinner to appear in his food bowl. Hank moves back toward the table and Sumo prances over to him, slobbering at his feet while Hank pushes through some of the mail with one hand, his other bringing the beer bottle back to his mouth, taking a long drag. Connor sees Hank's eyes lock onto one of the envelopes, and whatever he sees makes the lieutenant groan loudly. 

"Alright already." Hank says then, looking at Sumo. He steps over to the dog's food bowl and digs into the nearby pantry to scoop in a healthy portion of kibble. Connor however, steps over to the kitchen table, sneaking a glance at whatever Hank saw in the mail to upset him. 

"It's an invitation." Hank says, seeing Connor peer at the pile of mail.

"An invitation?" Connor asks, head tilting slightly.

"To the annual Gala." Hank clarifies, sounding about as excited as he had been nearly a year ago when Fowler had told him he'd be partnered with an android. The thought sends a strange pang of emotion through Connor's chest, but he pushes the feeling to the side. 

"Oh." Connor says simply. He knows what a gala is, of course he does, but Hank carries on explaining anyway.

"Every year they have this fucking yuppie event, _recognising_ members of the DPD." Hank eyes the envelope on the table cautiously. "I've only ever been invited one other year, and that was when I got promoted to lieutenant." 

Connor reaches for the unopened envelope, fully expecting Hank to protest him rummaging through his mail, but Hank doesn't stop him as Connor rips the side, pulling the invitation out to read it. His eyes glide over the paper, he can hear Hank gulping down his beer. 

_The Detroit Police Department would be honoured by the presence of Lieutenant Hank Anderson and RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 at the 142nd annual DPD Gala to recognise you, and others as members of Detroit's finest and most decorated officials._

_Saturday, November 12th, 2039. From 7:00pm to Midnight._

Hank watches Connor's LED swirl yellow in an uneven pattern. 

"What is it?" Hank asks, worry washing over him as he wonders if letter said something Connor shouldn't have read.

"Nothing, lieutenant." Connor shakes his head. It's not technically a lie, there's nothing really for Connor to tell, but reading over his model and serial number had struck him somewhere in his chest— that funny feeling returning. "Are we going?" 

Hank nearly chokes on the beer he'd been drinking when Connor asks. _Of course we're not fucking going_ is what he wants to say. He didn't want to go to the damn thing ten years ago when he was promoted either, but the desire to make a good impression on his superiors outweighed his disdain of public events and black tie getup. "I hadn't thought you would want to go." Hank says carefully, reaching over the table to pull the paper from Connor's hands.

Hank winces when he reads over Connor's model number, like the whole DPD doesn't know what the guy's name is. He's _Connor_ , not just some android. "You'd have to be fitted for a suit." Hank says it like a threat, but he knows damn well that won't deter Connor at all. 

"Naturally." Connor says, careful not to say whether he wants to go or not, judging Hank's reaction. It's not that he wants to go, but he feels as though they may be obligated. If Fowler is there, singing their praises for their work on the android cases, it feels rude not to attend. 

"Dammit.. Let me think about it." Hank grunts out. "It's not for another month anyway." He throws his head back to down the rest of his beer and pitches the empty bottle into the garbage. The glass clangs harshly against countless other bottles that fill the trash, a sorry statement about what kind of things Hank consumes day to day. 

"Okay, lieutenant." Connor says. 

 

Hank and Connor had arranged themselves on the sofa, probably sitting too close together, but the closer Connor got, the more he could feel the warmth radiating from the man next to him and something about it is comforting, to say the least, so he lets himself be drawn in toward the middle of the sofa where the cushions are worn and sink into each other. Hank has one arm resting on his stomach, the other is up on the back of the sofa. 

The lieutenant had— rather mistakenly let Connor choose what they were going to watch for the evening. The android had chosen some horribly boring documentary about renewable energy, and about a half hour in, he'd leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, and before he could even think to tell himself not to fall asleep, he was out cold. 

Connor can tell by Hank's breathing that he's well on his way to REM sleep and likely won't wake up, but he carefully steals glances anyway, not risking to stare at the lieutenant for too long before looking back to the television. Connor doesn't require sleep, unless his batteries need to be recharged, but looking at the way Hank's face is relaxed, the look of stress and the usual knot between his eyebrows smoothed away with the sanctuary of sleep. He looks peaceful— painless, and it hits Connor with a twinge of jealousy. 

Connor looks from Hank, to the television, and back to Hank again, leaning back a bit to sink further into the cushions of the sofa. He folds his hands across his stomach, letting them rest idly against the tie he was still wearing, and with one last look at Hank from the corner of his vision, Connor closes his eyes.

Nothing changes, not like he'd expected. When Hank sleeps, he doesn't wake to the feeling of Connor shifting next to him on the furniture, nor does he wake from the sound of the television. Connor had somehow expected his senses to be dulled when he closed his eyes, which he realises now is quite foolish. Of course nothing changes.

But what Connor does notice, is the way Hank's warmth seems to seep into him, the way Hank's forearm is ever so slightly touching the back of his neck. The sound of the television is soft, Connor had turned the volume down and the subtitles on so as not to disturb Hank as he slept, and now— if Connor let's his focus drop enough, the sound is no longer a narrator talking about an energy crisis in 2022, but a rhythmic sort of mumbling of white noise. He can hear Hank breathing steadily, and with his eyes closed, he can also hear the whoosh of his own breaths as the circulate through his body and back out again. 

Everything evens out, Connor's artificial muscles relaxing into the fabric of the sofa, his eyes stop flicking about under his eyelids, and for the first time since his creation, Connor _rests._

 

"Con?" He hears Hank say the odd nickname that the lieutenant sometimes calls him, but it sounds muffled, and Connor really doesn't want to open his eyes yet.

"Hey, Connor?" Hank says more urgently this time, and he hums out what he hopes translates as an affirmative response. 

"Connor!" He feels the lieutenant's hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. The android's eyes flutter open then, blinking back to life to see Hank nearly straddling his lap on the sofa, one of his knees between Connor's thighs, his left arm bracing against the cushions and his right hand on Connor's shoulder.

"Lieutenant." Connor says, voice slightly ragged. He pulls up the time, 04:27AM. 

"Jesus." Hank exhales, his hand dropping from Connor's shoulder to rest at his side. "Don't scare me like that, are you alright?" 

"Yes, Hank." Connor rarely calls him by his first name, but now seems as good a moment as any, given their current position. If Hank notices, he doesn't say anything, just stares at Connor with worry written plain on his face and still crowded into Connor's space. "I was just..." Connor starts, struggling to find the right word. _Shut down? Resting?.. Sleeping?_ "I might have been sleeping." is what he settles on, which doesn't seem to do much to placate the detective's worry.

"Is that normal?" Hank asks, slowly, _finally_ moving so that his knee straightens up and out from between Connor's legs as he backs up to stand up in front of him. 

"I don't know." Connor says, watching Hank run a hand through his hair, it's getting longer and longer. Connor wonders if he plans to cut it. "But nothing seems to be malfunctioning." He runs a diagnostic on himself, which yields no errors or warnings.

"Good." Hank says simply, and for a moment he'd planned to leave it at that but then adds; "How do you feel?"

Connor doesn't know how to answer that at first, and Hank picks up on it, his brow line coming down slightly in concern as his eyes travel over Connor's form, as if he could do an internal scan, as the android does on him. "Perhaps a little disoriented, but otherwise fine."

Hank's expression softens then, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _A groggy android_ , he thinks to himself. Who would have thought? "It's late." Hank announces. "Or fucking early, whatever. I'm going to lie down until my alarm goes off, are you alright out here?" 

Hank asks Connor this question every time he ends up staying in Hank's home for the evening, and Connor is never quite sure how to answer, but some emotion flickers through him every time the lieutenant asks. 

The truth is that while he is indeed fine in the living room on his own, the thought of what might happen if he said "no" has crossed his mind on more than one occasion. Would Hank sit with him until it was time to leave for work? Would Hank offer Connor the bedroom while the human slept on the sofa? Or would Hank invite Connor to his bedroom with him, to sleep in proximity like they had on the sofa just moments ago. Connor resists the urge.

"Of course." He says, letting a warm smile form on his lips. The lieutenant returns it and nods, walking heavy footed around the couch and stopping behind Connor. He reaches down to the android with both hands, resting them on the shoulders of his stupid police jacket, and giving a light squeeze before walking down the hall to his bedroom. The door shuts with a soft click, and Connor tries to close his eyes again, but the documentary on the television has long since ended-- the heat next to him has disappeared and it just doesn't feel the same.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this while at work, and didn't really bother to proofread so.. there's bound to be errors.


End file.
